


Strange Winds

by rufflefeather



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Gen, Gen or pre-slash however you want to read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is utter silliness I wrote a long time ago. Adding it here since it only exists in comment fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Winds

A strange wind blows through Camelot, leaving its residents restless, tired, bleary eyed, and irritable. 

_Or,_ Merlin thinks before even bothering to open his eyes, _In Arthur's case, more irritable than usual._

He wakes in time now, being used to the routine of the day. Rise, before dawn has truly touched his window, have breakfast with Gaius, fetch the prince's breakfast in the kitchens and then go wake him, help him dress and do whatever tedious chores he is ordered to do. 

Merlin yawns, eyes still closed. He has a little trouble waking up today. He stretches his legs, wiggles his toes, lifts his arms over his head and kneads his fingers into the pillow that feels so much softer than usual. He can't remember the last time he was so comfortable. Or the last time his sheets felt so soft. Maybe five more minutes. Just five more and then... he sighs. That is exactly what used to get him into trouble, so Merlin reluctantly opens one eye while knuckling the other and finally opening that one too. He swings his legs over the bed, patting his feet around the cold ground looking for the pile of clothes he left there before he fell into bed the night before but doesn't find them.

 _Odd,_ he thinks and he shuffles down the bed a little while yawning widely, thinking that maybe, he is farther up his bed then he thought or maybe he dumped them further down than he remembered or-

'Ow!' Merlin's face collides painfully with something hard and wooden. “What?” Why is there a pole at the end of his bed? Rubbing his face where the pillar had attempted to make an imprint, Merlin stands and shuffles toward his window. There isn't exactly a lot of light with the sun barely above the horizon but at least it will bring some clarity to the peculiarity of it all. There follows another loud noise however, with Merlin seeing all sorts of colors red while hopping around on one foot and clutching the other. There is something between the bed and the window that most definitely wasn't present the evening before. 

When the pain in his toes subsides enough to let go of them, Merlin shuffles forward on his bare feet, carefully exploring the dark and now oppressing air for more unexpected obstacles with flailing arms, but there are none. He fumbles with the lock on the shutters, not finding it where it should be and not twisting the way it should do and eventually he manages to open it. 

A fair amount of grey light spills into the room and Merlin's jaw drops at what he sees. Instead of looking upon the small courtyard from the height of his tower room, Merlin stares over the castle grounds and the already wakening servants fetching water to freshen themselves up before tending to their masters. The view is familiar and even though it still takes too long for Merlin to understand where he is because of the sheer impossibility of it, he realizes it fairly quickly.

He is in Arthur's room.

Merlin rubs his eyes, pressing his fingers into his sockets for good measure, to establish he is really awake. Red and black swirls dance against his eyelids but when he lifts them again the same view stares him in the face. For one dreadful moment he believes he must have sleepwalked his way here and crawled into bed with his master so he turns agonizingly slowly, as if that would make all the difference in the world, as if turning quickly would make the truth more embarrassing. But the bed is empty. The room is empty. There is no Arthur. In fact, the room is entirely the way he left it when he had bid the prince goodnight. Even the goblet of water by the bed stands where he left it, still full to the brim. It’s strange, because Arthur always wakes up thirsty in the middle of the night and drinks- .

Coming to think of it, Merlin is feeling particularly parched himself and surely it wouldn't hurt to drink, just a little, from the golden-. 

He is already moving toward it when he stares at his own feet, dumbfounded. Only, they aren't his own feet. Because his own feet, well - aren't huge. And for the first time that morning, Merlin moves frantically as if an awareness is starting to sink down on him but he doesn't quite know what it is yet. He palms at the shirt covering his chest and sniffs it before jerking his face away from it when he realizes exactly what he is doing.

'Oh Lord, it is Arthur's shirt,' he mumbles before staring at callused hands that he knows so well but aren't his own. Hands callused with sword fighting, with handling spears and shields. Callused hands that now pull at the hair on his own head while screwing up his eyes and face to see it. But it’s too dark in the room and the hair is too short to really get a good look. Not that he needs to because he has already seen the fine golden hairs covering arms that aren't his either. He rushes to the table none the less and grabs the silver plate causing the fruit upon it to tumble down onto the wooden surface. When an apple rolls all the way toward the door only to be stopped by its unbudging nature, Merlin is staring at the face staring back at him in the platter. The eyes are too blue and the nose is too straight and the top lip is too thin and the hair. It is too blond. He is Merlin. But he looks like Arthur.

_Arthur._

The plate lands heavily on the table and vibrates through the impact spinning around a dozen times before coming to a rest but by then Merlin is already out of the door and running, running down the stairs not caring he is running on bare feet and not caring he is running in a night shirt.  
He has to find Arthur before the prince wakes up.

#

Merlin skids to a halt in front of Gaius's quarters, stubbing his toe - well, Arthur's toe but that doesn't make it hurt any less- roughly on an uneven slab of concrete, before bursting through the door. Gaius, who is shuffling around still dressed in his own nightgown nearly drops the bowl of porridge he is about to heat over the fire. His eyes widen when he realizes just exactly who is standing there in his room, huffing and puffing as if he has been chased by an army of wraiths, wearing a nightshift no less.

'Sire,' he begins to say not quite sure how to continue that sentence. But he doesn't have to because Merlin is already charging forward demanding to know whether-

'-Arthur is awake?'

Gaius's eyebrow snakes its way up in a manner that is all too familiar to Merlin and he realizes his mistake too late.

'I mean, Merlin. Is Merlin in there?'

'I- well, I think so Sire. It is early yet, did he miss eh-' he glances at the prince's state of undress. 'Something?'

'Yes. No! Maybe? It isn't important. I'll just-' and with that Merlin-who-is-Arthur disappears into his own room.

The prince is sprawled all over the bed that is at least half the size of the one Merlin woke up in only moments ago. Moments that already seem like a lifetime of impossibilities. Now that Merlin is here, experiencing the sensation of looking at himself, which can't really be described as anything but disturbing, he doesn't really know what to do. So he stands there rubbing his chin for a while before realizing rubbing his chin is not something he does. Ever. So he drops the hand in a hurry and decides he can't just remain there until he turns blue. Or at least until Arthur's feet turn blue because they are becoming rather cold right now. He therefor thinks brusque action is the best route and walks over to his own window, throws it open, saying something about rising and shining. 

The real Arthur stirs and he groans as he turns onto his back, nearly toppling out of the small bed before telling the real Merlin in a muffled voice that really he-,

'- Should wash the bedding more often because it's itchy.' 

Arthur stretches and yawns. 'Ugh, I feel exhausted,’ he groans, ‘as if I spent the day on the battlefield yesterday instead of-.' 

The real Arthur sits himself on the edge of the bed rubbing his eyes much in the same way as Merlin had done earlier, when he looks to the left. And to the right. And to the left again. 'Merlin,' he says with that hint of a threat as if everything is always his fault. 'Why am I in your room?'

Merlin waits for it, for the moment Arthur will turn around to face him and a detached part of his mind wonders how that arrogant little glare will look upon his own face. He straightens Arthur's shirt and Arthur's shoulders and looks on as his own head starts to turn around when the real Arthur is clearly becoming annoyed at the real Merlin's uncustomary silence. And Merlin - or Arthur - be damned if this isn’t all becoming rather confusing.

The truth is, even though Merlin is still in a state of disbelief himself, when he sees the slight irritation turn into an uncomprehending frown, when Arthur jumps to his feet and his mouth opens and closes a few times, when he points at Merlin who isn't Merlin anymore but him, he has serious trouble to stop himself from laughing. Arthur says things that start with 'But,' and 'Wh-. Y-. I-' but never go anywhere, and the image is just too comical. He is watching Arthur basically go through the same motions he did earlier. The strange hands, the strange clothing, the strange feet and the dark hair. Of course Arthur wouldn't be Arthur if he didn't think throwing things would help. Merlin ducks as the pillow hurtles his way but it is closely followed by the man himself who grabs him by the shirt.

'What did you _do_?' he demands, attempting to shove Merlin back and forth to the rhythm of every word and only becoming more infuriated when he barely manages to make him sway.

'I didn't do anything!' Merlin tells him. 'It was like this when I woke up this morning, in eh… your bed.'

' _You_ woke up in _my_ bed?' Arthur says still dragging at the shirt. 'This is … Impossible.' 

He finally lets go but his eyes keep wandering to Merlin. 'This is… utter-'. Unable to find the words, he shakes his head and rubs his eyes again, establishing that he too, is really awake. 'This is clearly magic,' he says after pacing to the opposite end of the small room and back again.

'Clearly,' Merlin snorts and immediately apologizes. 'Sorry, not the right time for being clever.'

'No. It isn't.' Arthur advances on him again but somehow Merlin finds it hard to be intimidated by - well, himself. Especially with the hair, all sticking up like that. Arthur seems to think the same thing because all he does when he reaches Merlin, is give him an odd up and down look, that starts somewhere half way his chest and ends on his nose.

'What?' Merlin demands when Arthur just keeps staring. It makes him a little nervous having his own eyes scrutinize him like that.

'Nothing.'

'What? Go on, say it!'

'I just… thought I was taller. Is all.'

'Oh no, I'm definitely taller than you are.'

'No you are not!'

'Eh, yes I am Arthur.'

Arthur opens his mouth again, then realizes the complete absurdity of the conversation and jabs a finger into Merlin's chest.

'Careful,' Merlin tells him, rubbing the spot. 'This is yourself you're hurting remember.'

' _Merlin_! What. Are we going to _do_?' Arthur demands before turning away and flopping down on the bed with his head in his hands.

'We could always ask Gaius for advice, he's just outside. Probably wondering what we're doing here.'

But Arthur shakes his head. 'No, I think we need to try and work it out for ourselves first. If my father hears of this-' he hesitates, lifts his head and looks Merlin straight in the eye. 'He'll probably execute us both.'

If there is one thing that would sober Merlin up, it is the thought of rolling heads or burning pyres so he immediately wipes the slightly amused look off his face and goes to sit beside Arthur.

'You're right. Let's think about this. What do we know?'

'It is magic, we established that, but why? Who would gain anything from swapping our-,' he cringes before saying it, 'bodies.'

'Hmm, there doesn't seem to be any clear advantage to be gained from this. It's more like… a prank. Something a Goblin would do, or a Trickster or … something. Okay, I will go to the library and see if there are any creatures who have these kind of powers.'

'Good, but fetch me some clothes first will you. And for goodness sake, put some on yourself.'

'Eh, Arthur…' Merlin begins, trying so very hard not to enjoy what is about to follow. 'I look like you. You look like me.'

'Oh well done _Merlin_ , catching on are we?' Arthur demands, his teeth grinding together.

'No I mean,' Merlin clears his throat, or rather Arthur’s. 'I can hardly be seen serving you. Can I?'

He manages - barely, but he manages - to not even allow a corner of his mouth to twitch when he watches the implications of that really sink in.

#

'Ah Merlin, there you are. Listen, when you've finished your breakfast and Arthur can spare you for a bit I really nee…'

'Sorry Gaius!' Merlin who is really Arthur says, and he flays his hand about as if he is about to burst into a speech or a power ballad. Both himself and Gaius stare at it for a moment before he pulls a face of disbelief and quickly tucks the offending arm behind his back. 'M- I mean, Arthur needs me to eh… fetch something.'

'Yes why-' Gaius's eyes shift to the closed door behind which he believes Arthur is still waiting. 'Why did he burst in here in his bedclothes this morning? Is everything all right?' He leans a little closer and Arthur automatically does the same. 'It's not a big spider in his bed again is it? I remember when he was a little b-'

'No not at all!' Arthur says quickly, his ears going slightly red. 'No spiders, just… you know. Stuff. Anyway. Must dash. Back soon!'

Arthur stomps up the stairs to his bedroom fervently hoping Merlin hadn't heard a word of that exchange. Honestly. He was five years old at the time - all right, maybe ten, but it was a _really_ big spider.

Arthur shifts in Merlin's shirt and absentmindedly scratches his chest as he rounds the corner to his chambers. A servant walks toward him and in true Arthur fashion he goes to completely ignore him but;  
'Bedbugs biting you Merlin?' the servant laughs while clapping him hard on the shoulder. 'Try bathing. Every month or so.' The servant merrily continues on his way without waiting for a reply, leaving Arthur fuming before he realizes the man is not talking to _him_. He is talking to _Merlin_. And then he rubs his shoulder because that shove really _hurt_.

Arthur enters his quarters, slamming the door perhaps a little harder than truly necessary and stalks toward his closet. Paying no mind to the mess he is making, he pulls out one shirt after another until he finds what he is looking for. It is old, not as white as it used to be, a little wrinkled and would be too tight for him if he wasn't stuck in this -.

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, unwilling to finish the thought, before shrugging out of Merlin's itchy shirt and pulling the worn, but still infinitely softer one over his head. He then adjusts the red little scarf - why does he wear that thing anyway?- and starts rummaging around for clothes he can give to Merlin.

When he finds what he needs, Arthur marches out of the door and is fumbling with the lock, his arms being full of clothes as they are, when;

'You. Boy.' 

He freezes in place before plastering a polite smile on his face and turning toward the familiar voice.

'Sire,' Arthur says with a deferential nod.

'Open that door, I need to speak to my son.'

Arthur is about to feel a little indignant at that, since he is holding all this stuff and his father's hands are clearly free but then remembers he has bigger problems. 'He is not here, Milord.'

'Oh?' Uther says, not really acknowledging him but rather adjusting the strap of his sword belt. 'Where is he this early?'

'Eh- He, he is-' his eye falls on a drapery depicting a rearing horse so he says; 'He is with his horse,' before cringing.

At this the King does look at him. 'With his horse,' he repeats, a note of disbelief in his voice.

'Yes. It was lame last night and he wanted to make sure it would be all right.'

'I see. Well,' Uther already turns away. 'Tell him to come to me as soon as possible.'

'Yes Sire,' Arthur says to his retreating back and stares after him for quite some time before he remembers what he is doing and runs down the stairs again.

'Merlin,' Gaius tells him when he reenters the physician's quarters. 'Why is Arthur still in your bedroom?'

'He… didn't want to wander around the castle in his nightshirt again.' Arthur tries to shuffle past him but the old man is surprisingly agile.

'You haven't told me why he wandered in here in his nightshirt in the first place,' he says, eyeing the boy. 'Are you in some kind of trouble again?'

For a moment Arthur thinks of what Merlin would have said in a situation like that and he smiles, shrugging, and says; 'Am I not always?', before squeezing past the man, and disappearing into Merlin's room.

'There you are,' Merlin says. 'What took you so long?' He is stretched out on the thin mattress, one hand tucked behind his head, the other on his stomach, legs crossed at the ankles.

'Get off the bed Merlin,' Arthur tells him, dumping the clothes at his feet. 'This is no time to be lazing about.'

'All right, don't get your neckerchief in a twist,' Merlin grins and rises from the bed. When he starts to pull off the nightshirt to change into the clothes on the bed, Arthur throws his arms up, telling Merlin to;

'Show a little respect for my privacy, will you!'

Merlin peaks his head (well, Arthur's) through the nightshirt again and cocks an eyebrow;

'Would you like to look away perhaps? If you are shy?' he asks and Arthur splutters;

'Of course not! It's my own b-. I just mean-. Shut up.'

'I see.'

'I said-'

'I heard. But really,' he pulls the shirt over his head and his voice sounds a bit muffled when he continues with; 'What are you going to do? Put yourself in the stocks?' 

When Merlin reappears he is met with a face full of cloth.

'Oh, thank you Sire.' A grin splits his face nearly in two. 'You don't have to help me dress.' When his head resurfaces once again, there is a finger pointing very close to his nose.

'You're enjoying this aren't you, Merlin. Think you can have a bit of fun at my expense because you think I can't do anything to you right now, but-'

'Well, you can't though can you?' Merlin says and he knows he's not helping himself but he just can't resist. 'Would you make me muck out the stables? Looking like this?' He wiggles a finger at his face, before sidestepping Arthur and grabbing the breeches off the bed. He hops around on one foot while pulling them on and Arthur turns redder and redder by the second.

'You,’ Arthur fumes. 'This,’ he waves his hand at Merlin, then at himself and at Merlin again, 'will not last... forever. And then!' His own face now folds into a mad grin.

'Then what?' Merlin teases, still trying to fit his other leg into the trousers.

Arthur brings his face very close to Merlin and hisses; 'Latrine…' Merlin's eyes widen and he freezes on the spot, standing on one leg, the other half way down the trouser pipe. '…assignment.' Arthur finishes malevolently.

'You wouldn't.'

'A month.'

Merlin straightens. 'Fine. I'll stop enjoying myself. Because heaven forbid Merlin has a little fun.' He shoves his arms through the long brown coat, steps into the boots and runs a hand through his hair to flatten it. 'I'll start at the library. Maybe you should stay here with Gaius. Safest bet. Otherwise someone might actually make you do some work.'

' _Merlin_ …'

'All right, all _right_. Sorry. Still…'

'Can't anyway. Your father wants to see m… I mean my father wants to see y… The King wants to see us!'

'Oh.'

'Yes. Oh. I'm glad that wipes the smirk off your face. Let's go. Just nod and be noncommittal with anything he says.'

 

##

 

'Arthur,' Merlin mutters between barely moving lips. 'You're supposed to be walking behind or beside me, not in front.'

'What? Ugh.' Arthur pulls a face and slows to fall into step with Merlin. They continue down the corridor in leaden silence, stealing glances at each other the entire time. 'Odd though isn't it,' Arthur says eventually.

'What's odd?'

'Seeing yourself. Don't you find? I mean, how you look through someone else's eyes. It's so different than what you think.'

'Why, how did you think you looked?' Merlin asks him, careful not to sound derisive again.

'Taller, for one thing,' Arthur mumbles a little resentfully. 'And I didn't know my nose was a bit… crooked.'

'Not to mention your feet,' Merlin says.

'What? What's wrong with my feet?' He bends down a bit as they walk to study the boots Merlin is wearing.

'Just, bit big aren't they?’

'No they're not! Besides, don't get me started on you!'

'What? Just being helpful here!'

'Well, at least I will be able to get back looking like normal. Instead of like this.' He slapped a hand against his chest for emphasis.

'What's wrong with the way I look?' Merlin hisses under his breath because they are just outside the throne room.

'Well look at you! All dangly and bony! And those ears, I-'

'Don't dis the ears Arthur. Don't even go there. Or I'll have to say something about y-.'

At that exact moment the doors open. 'There you are! I was about to come looking for you, in case that idiot of a servant of yours forgot to tell you. Again.' Uther puts a hand on who he thinks is his son's elbow and guides him inside. Merlin's eyes widen and he mouthes a 'help' at Arthur over Uther's shoulder. Arthur grins, a little evilly and for a brief moment considers leaving his father and Merlin alone but then decides it is probably in his best interest to know what the King wants to talk about. So he slips inside too and closes the doors behind him.

Uther seats himself behind a plate of a scrumptious looking breakfast and indicates for Merlin, who hovers a little nervously behind the chair, to do the same. His stomach contracts ravenously at the sight of meats and cheese, the luscious fruits and rolls of bread still steaming fresh from the oven. He doesn't even need to look over his shoulder to know Arthur wears the face of a thundercloud. This will definitely be the best breakfast he's ever eaten. 

_Even though,_ ' he thinks. _It doesn't technically disappear into my own stomach._

He still will have the enjoyment of tasting it, while Arthur for a change can be the silent -and hungry- witness.

Merlin is careful at first, watching the King out of the corner of his eye but when Uther waves a hand at the general direction of Merlin's plate while biting down on a huge strawberry, he tucks in. And it's good. It is everything he ever thought it would be when he carried Arthur's breakfast up the stairs all those times. And it is even better than that because he knows Arthur is burning bread roll sized holes in the back of his head as he eats.

'So what did you wish to see me about S-, I mean,' he hesitates, eyeing the King nervously before adding a strangled; 'Father?'

'Ah yes, I just wanted to inform you King Ulridien is passing through Camelot with his daughter Elvira tomorrow.'

Merlin raises a polite eyebrow and says 'Oh?' as noncommittally as he can, wondering if this is supposed to mean something to Arthur. Apparently it does because he can hear him make a noise behind him, something along the lines of; 'Hmgnm.'

Uther, who was about to bite into another strawberry, briefly frowns over Merlin's head as if he isn't surprised at hearing his son's servant making odd noises at random. 'Yes. Now I know there was some… eh, how shall I put this. Oh well, let me just be blunt. I know she wrapped you around her little finger when you were sixteen years old and there were things said and promises made and goodness knows what else.'

Merlin's eyes widen and he has to suck his cheeks in to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

'Anyway,' Uther continues, shifting a little uncomfortably in his chair. 'I want you to think long and hard before you… eh, … take action this time. Because those promises may not have meant anything back then but they will now. I wouldn't be opposed to an alliance, King Ulridien is a very powerful and rich man with a great army, but use your judgment as the future King of Camelot this time, and not as-, well. As the love sick puppy you were five years ago.'

'Yes father,' Merlin says between lips pulled thin in an attempt not to smile. 'Of course father.' Merlin puts the half eaten bread roll he's still holding back on the plate. ‘I-, there is something that I have to attend to right away. Eh- I have to go.'

He gives Uther a small nod, rises to his feet and lets them carry him out of the room as fast as he can without running, grinning inanely all the while. Uther's eyes rest on his son's retreating back, and he is shaking his head slightly. The girl obviously hasn't been forgotten if her name alone can still make Arthur fluster like that.

'Not. A word.'

A hand grabs Merlin by the upper arm as soon as the doors close behind them and Arthur drags them both up the stairs.

'What are you doing?' Merlin demands, still unable to pull his face in a more serious expression. 'Someone could see!'

But Arthur doesn't care. He opens the door to his chambers and attempts to hurtle Merlin inside but barely makes him stumble.

'We have to fix this!' he says between clenched teeth, his hand still on Merlin's arm and he pulls it up and down with every word. But Merlin is staring at all the shirts on the ground.

'What happened in here?' he asks.

'I needed to find a shirt that didn't itch,' Arthur tells him. 'But never mind that now. We need to fix this problem before tomorrow. You can't meet Elli as me.'

'Oh Elli is it?'

'Don't start Merlin! I didn't sleep well, I am starving, I am forced to walk around looking like _you_ of all people. Really! How do you get through a day like this? I mean, there is just no strength in these arms of yours!'

'Hey! Just because I don't feel the need to wave a sword around all day to prove what a manly man I am!'

'That's not why-! I am a knight and-. _Merlin_. Stop digressing and find a solution.'

'Fine, I'll go to the library. Why don't you go to the kitchens and find yourself some breakfast. We'll meet in Gaius's quarters, he'll be out on rounds this morning.'

Arthur opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he isn't quite sure what to make of Merlin being so decisive. 'Fine. At least we'll be doing something.' Arthur goes toward the door, tugging irritatedly on Merlin's scarf.

'Eh Arthur?'

'What?'

'You do know where the kitchens are don't you?'

Arthur turns around again and walks toward Merlin, slowly and purposefully. 'You may laugh now Merlin,' he says . 'But my time will come.' Arthur starts to smile in a way that makes Merlin a little uncomfortable. 'You know when that time will be Merlin?'

Merlin shakes his head.

'This afternoon, Merlin. And do you know why this afternoon, _Merlin_?'

It dawns on him then and his eyebrows almost meet in the middle while his eyes widen in dread. 'Sword practice with the knights,' he says, weakly.

'Sword practice with the knights,' Arthur parrots, sounding positively gratified. 'And who's going to be laughing then, hey _Merlin_?'

Merlin thinks about that for a while and edges toward the door, his hands finding the handle behind his back before he says; 'Well, the knights probably. You've seen me with a sword.' He manages to open the door and disappear through it just when Arthur's grin falls from his face and is replaced by an expression as if he has just been slapped with a wet fish.

 

It turns out to be impossible to find anything in the library, mainly because Geoffrey is so surprised to see the prince appear in his sanctuary that he hovers by his shoulder the entire time wondering if-.

'Milord is quite sure I can't help you find anything?'

'Yes Geoffrey, I am just taking a look around. Why don't you sit back down?'

'But this is such a big place Sire, perhaps I can direct you in some way? I can't begin to tell you how pleased I am to see you take an interest in the true literary treasures this castle holds. Or perhaps you are more inclined to learn about Camelot's past? There is a very interesting thirty two volume chronicle I am more than happy to…'

And with that Merlin leaves, barely escaping, he is convinced, an afternoon of mind numbing boredom.  
When he returns to Gaius's quarters, he finds a very disgruntled Arthur staring at a congealed bowl of porridge. Wisely, for once, he decides not to ask the prince if he isn't hungry.

'I couldn't find anything,' he tells him, while closing the door behind him. 'Geoffrey wouldn't leave my side. But Gaius has some books here, maybe we can…'

'There's no time for that now.' Arthur jumps to his feet, a grim look on his face. 'We have to go to the practice field. I think it's important we appear to act as normal.'

'But Arthur,' Merlin starts to protest. 'You don't seriously want me to go to this training do you?'

'Yes I do, I've been thinking about it. Fighting is all about reflexes and less about using your brain.'

'That explains a lot,' Merlin murmurs, fingering the hem of his shirt.

'What?'

'Nothing! Nothing, you were saying…?'

'Yes. Reflexes. So once you pick up a sword, my body should know what to do. Come on, you have to go and put my armor on.'

'I really think this is a bad idea. We should be looking for a solution for this…'

'Yes I know, I'm not happy about it either but if I don't show up people will be coming to look for me and asking questions, and the last thing we want is to have you talk to people as me.'

'What? I'm much better at the whole prince thing, than you are at the servant thing. Look at that bowl for instance, don't you know porridge practically turns to rock if you don't wash it out straight away?'

Arthur grimaces at Merlin. 'It tasted like rock to begin with. Armory.' He puts his hands on Merlin's shoulders, turns him around and steers him to the door. 'Go!'

Merlin doesn't point out how Arthur always makes him drag the armor all the way to his bedroom to then walk down to the armory anyway, but precedes the prince in silence.

'Now,' Arthur claps him on the shoulder when he has everything in place apart from the helmet. 'Just go out there, tell them to start with the basic warm up. Swing the sword around a bit so you get a feel for it, then after about fifteen minutes, tell them to pair up. Usually Sir Leon will start out with me, then every fifteen minutes you swap partners. You understand that?'

'I understand you'll have a fair few bruises by the time you get your body back,' Merlin complains while taking the helmet our of Arthur's hands and turns toward the training field.

'Ow, not afraid of a bit of pain are we _Merlin_?' Arthur goads him.

'Not as afraid as you are of humiliation,' Merlin responds. He rolls his shoulders under the weight of the chain mail, always having imagined it would be heavier. But then, Merlin thinks, if he had to wear it himself, it probably would be. Arthur is just used to it, having practically grown up in armor.

When they reach the edge of the field, the knights are already there, talking in small groups, their swords catching the midday sun and reflecting it across the castle walls.

'Now remember, close your mind and let the body take over. It will know what to do.' Arthur pushes the sword into Merlin's hands. Merlin is briefly surprised at how familiar the weight of it feels in his hands, but then swallows hard when he starts to walk toward the others. When he reaches them, they greet him one by one and Merlin has to swallow again, his mouth suddenly dry when he sees all their eyes on him, waiting for instruction.

'Eh- basic warm up,' he says, only it sounds like a question. If the knights notice anything strange, they don't show it when they go to stand in formation, four rows of five, all facing the same way. When they are lined up, Sir Leon shouts 'On guard', followed by things like 'riposte from left' and 'guard head' and 'grapple from right'. All the knights move in unison, the distinct sounds of swords slicing through nothing filling the air. Merlin moves behind them, gingerly trying out a swing himself. When the weapon moves fluently and without hesitation as if he has nothing to do with it, Merlin is so shocked he loses his grip, and the sword flops awkwardly to the grass. He quickly grabs the weapon, checking everyone still has their backs to him and then gives Arthur, who stands by the sidelines with his right hand clasped against his forehead, a silly shrug. Arthur shakes his head slowly, dragging the hand over his face.

Soon, too soon, the warm up is over and they all turn to their prince again.

'Right,' Merlin tells them, clearing his throat. 'Well done. Really, top notch everyone. Eh - pair up!' As the prince predicted earlier, Sir Leon walks over to Merlin and he feels his throat go dry all over again. He resists the urge to look back at Arthur, knowing it won't do him any good in the slightest.

'Ready when you are Milord,' Leon tells him, clasping his sword in both hands.

'Um, yes. Ready.'

Sir Leon starts to circle him and Merlin follows as he has witnessed Arthur do so often on afternoons just like this one. Afternoons where it was Merlin standing by the sideline and Arthur facing a blade that suddenly looks much larger than his own. Maybe being a servant isn't such a bad-. 

But then the first blow falls, he is really unprepared and his weapon goes flying.

'Eh, not ready!' Merlin tells a startled Sir Leon with a weak laugh. He scrambles to pick up the sword again, catching sight of Arthur who appears to be chewing on his red scarf, then becoming aware of exactly what he is doing, pulls it out of his mouth in disgust.

'Eh,' Merlin nearly says he is sorry when he remembers; if there is one thing the prince doesn't do, it is apologize. 'Let's try that again shall we,' he says with too loud a chuckle. 'Really Merlin, you know you're not supposed to wax the handle.' Sir Leon and some of the nearby knights laugh a little perfunctory.

Merlin isn't quite sure if Leon is being more careful this time around or if he is just better at it, but he easily parries the strokes and manages to add a few thrusts of his own. It doesn't take long for the rhythm to find itself. His arms rise and fall, his feet follow steps they have taken for years. Then, he almost sees the coordination and suddenly, he notices the flaw in Sir Leon's movement. He charges forward, the sword handle near his face and lets the blade arc down in a sharp thrust. Sir Leon barely manages to evade. Merlin is so pleased with the move he turns toward Arthur with a delighted smile, but then gets whacked on the backside with the flat of Sir Leon's blade.

'Sire!' Leon exclaims, eyes wide, not sure how to continue after that. But Arthur, who is still standing by the sidelines, now gripping his hair yells an affronted; 'Merlin!' at the exact same time. Sir Leon looks from who he thinks is the prince to the servant and back again.

'Why is he yelling his own name?' he asks, frowning slightly.

'No idea. Probably forgot his medication this morning,' Merlin says, before turning around again, suppressing the urge to run a hand over his stinging rump. 'Let's start again from the beginning.'

And it is fantastic after that. Arthur was right, there is no need to think. The sword moves in his hand, his arms following a fluent pattern all of their own, blocking, parrying and thrusting to a rhythm he doesn't quite understand but that feels familiar none the less. Out of the corner of his eye, he sometimes catches Arthur swinging an imaginary sword around in time with his own, and once, after a particularly good move, he hears him whoop. Soon his back is clammy with sweat, the sun beating down on it with the first beginnings of summer heat and the knights have to break for a drink more and more often.

'That will do for today,' Merlin calls in the end, briefly forgetting to be uncomfortable with ordering other people around. 'Excellent work.' The knights lift the helmets off their heads and start to gather round, chatting about the afternoon's session.

Merlin walks over to Arthur, smiling a little foolishly.

'Still think sword fighting is all about acting like a manly man?' Arthur asks him with a smirk.

'Well. Yes. But it's also sort of fun.'

They move off the field toward the armory, Merlin with a newfound swagger to his step, and once there, dumps the sword and helmet on the table. He is about to start peeling off the gloves and wrist braces when Arthur steps forward, bats his hands away and begins to do it for him.

'What?' Arthur demands when he sees the baffled look on Merlin's face. 'I know how I feel after a few hours in that thing.'

Merlin keeps his mouth shut as Arthur's hands move deftly over clasps and straps, assisting him out of the chain mail.

#

'I have to do _what_?'

'I'm sorry Arthur, but there really is no other way is there? I mean-. I can't-,' he points at the door. 'You can't-,' he points the other way. 'We can't-,' he waves his hand between them.

'No! Of course not! I'm not suggesting… But that means,' he sighs and his shoulders droop. 'That means I have to go sleep on that haystack of yours again.' Arthur blinks wistfully at his bed.

'I have to sleep on it all the time,' Merlin tells him, sounding a little hurt.

'Yeah well, you're used to it aren't you? I mean, even sleeping on a forest floor is more comfortable than what you call a bed.'

' _Yeah, well,_ ' Merlin begins, imitating Arthur's tone of voice but then his own quietens down. 'It isn't like I have a choice so-.'

They had been sitting in Arthur's room for a while, Merlin in the chair and Arthur cross legged on the table. For some reason, it was harder to hang on to decorum with one looking like the prince and the other being him. When they were certain the kitchens would be empty, the two boys had snuck in there, filled two large plates with food and carried them to the prince's quarters.

'We have to tell someone,' Merlin had said between two mouthfuls but Arthur shook his head.

'Can't. Imagine the uproar. I want to attempt to find a solution ourselves. We didn't really try today.'

'But that girl will be here tomorrow. What is the deal with her anyway?'

'None of your business is what the deal is,' was Arthur's only answer.

'So.' Arthur says after an awkward silence where one had been studying the floor and the other the ceiling, swinging his legs off the table. 'You're right. It isn't the end of the world. Besides, maybe… when we wake up tomorrow it will all be back to normal. Maybe it will have blown over by then. Whatever it is.'

'Maybe,' Merlin says doubtfully.

'Right. Goodnight then, Merlin.'

'Goodnight, Sire.' Merlin says as Arthur disappears through the door, leaving his servant in his own bedchamber.

Merlin pulls off his boots and the long coat, stares at the shirts that are still strewn across the floor, picks out a sleeping one and pulls it over his head. When he flops down on the royal bed, pulling the sheets and blankets over him, he thinks of Arthur lying on his thin mattress and manages to pity him for three whole seconds before stretching his arms and legs wide so he resembles a starfish, sighing with deep contentment.

He could easily become accustomed to that bed.

Meanwhile Arthur stalks through the corridor on his way to Gaius's quarters, telling himself it really won't be that bad. He has slept under much worse conditions. In the pouring rain for instance, during that notorious hunting trip, when it was too wet to even start a fire. He had nothing but a cloak and a blanket to keep him warm that time. He remembers how the mud had seeped into his boots, how the rain had soaked everything through so he thought he'd never be warm again. So sleeping on a hard, itchy bed really wouldn't be that bad. Surely they'd figure out a solution tomorrow. They had to… with Elli arriving. 

A door to his left opens, but Arthur is so caught up in his own world, he doesn't notice.

'Merlin?' a soft voice calls.

Who'd want Merlin at this time, he wonders. Don't they know he-. Oh.

_Right._

He turns around. 'Ah Morg-, I mean. Milady.' He retraces his steps and comes to a halt at her door. Morgana is already dressed for the night. 'Is there something I can do for you?'

Morgana's eyes travel up and down, one eyebrow raised and Arthur drops the hand from his hip and puts his feet together in a more deferential pose. The corner of her mouth twitches up in a smile. 'It's all right Merlin, you're off duty. I was just wondering if you could give me a hand for a moment. Gwen has already gone to bed and-.' She steps aside, holding the door to her bedroom open and invites Merlin in with a hand gesture.

'Eh, sure.' Arthur tells her, not sure what it is she wants from him.

'They replaced the candles on my chandelier today but forgot to move the table back to its original place. Would you mind helping me push it back where it belongs?'

'No, of course not. I can do it by myself Milady, you don't have to-.'

'Oh hush Merlin, it's no effort.'

'No let me fetch one of the guards, it isn't proper for you to-.'

'Merlin,' she tells him sternly, with a commanding stare like only Morgana can muster.

So they both move to stand on opposite ends of the table and Arthur is secretly pleased it isn't as big as his, because it is still solid wood and it is still incredibly heavy. So he starts out thinking he'll just lift and move it, but is reminded in a painful way his brain is now attached to Merlin's arms and they both end up shoving and pushing until they are red in the face. When the table is finally back where it should be, Morgana collapses in a chair with a breathless laugh and Arthur ends up leaning against the wall trying very hard not to look like he is going to cave in.

Morgana however, isn't fooled. 'Sit down, Merlin,' she tells him, grinning. She even pours watered down wine in a goblet and slides it across the table. She then pours a generous amount for herself and lifts the beaker in the air. 'To elbow grease and propriety,' she offers and he says something along the lines of 'I'll drink to that, cheers'.

Arthur learns two things in that moment. One, that Morgana is far more relaxed when she thinks there is no royalty around and two, that the wine she keeps in her chambers is far less diluted than his own.

'So you were working kind of late Merlin,' she says, refilling her own goblet and passing the decanter across the table. 'Arthur having you scrub his armor at midnight again?' She smirks a little and for some reason that annoys Arthur more than her words. He opens his mouth to retort but she beats him to it. 

'He needs to find himself a girlfriend or something, maybe he'll behave a little less like a prat, then.'

Arthur's mouth is still open but this time not with the intention to speak. Morgana misunderstands his silence however. 'Don't worry Merlin,' she laughs. 'I won't tell on you, although I doubt you'd say anything but good things about the crown prince. Loyal to the death, no doubt. Does he even know? How much you do for him?' But Morgana doesn't really expect an answer and her mind trails back to her earlier thought. She sips from her wine and says; 'Yes, a girlfriend,' while staring into the fire, a smile playing on her lips. 'I hear that girl will return tomorrow, the one he was so head over heels for a couple of years ago.' She glances at who she thinks is Merlin and laughs at his expression. 'Oh but you weren't here then, were you? You should have seen it. Precious it was, not leaving her side the entire time. All she had to do was snap her fingers. Bit embarrassing really… but teenage boys, what do you expect?'

'I-,' is all Arthur can raise, his ears burning red. He hides his face in the goblet of wine.

'I didn't like her much,' she tells him and when his eyes widen even further, she straightens. 'Oh don't get me wrong, I'm not jealous. Arthur is practically my brother, in every annoying way, but… No there was something about that girl I didn't like. Calculating. A bit of a mean streak in the making if you ask me.'

'Eh-,' Arthur offers, the flush spreading from his ears down to his neck. He wants to say so many things at once, his brain can't pick out a single thought so he remains silent.

'Well, what is it like, working for His Royal Arrogance?' Morgana asks him next, changing topic again and Arthur vaguely wonders how much wine she really had.

'It's ehm, all right, I suppose,' he mumbles, not sure what to make of this odd conversation.

'Oh come _off_ it. Typical men that, isn't it? Unable to say what they feel. Everyone can see you’re devoted to him. And I think he likes you too, you know. Although he'd sooner show his affection by throwing stuff at you than actually saying something nice. I speak from experience.'

'What? When did I ever- I mean… eh-.' Arthur flusters and tries to cover up his mistake by taking a deep gulp from the goblet. He is too unnerved however, and almost chokes on the wine. He coughs and splutters, the liquid burning when it ends up in his nose. Morgana just laughs and settles for staring into the fire again.

She is quiet for so long Arthur wonders if it would be okay to just stand up and sneak out of the room. He places his hands on the armrests of his chair and is about to push himself out of it when Morgana speaks again, so softly he barely hears her above the crackling of the flames.

'He'll be a good King, no doubt. Honorable, always eager to do the right thing.' An awkward silence fills the room again and the flames dance in Morgana's eyes, giving them a reddish glow that makes Arthur uneasy, though he can't exactly pinpoint why. 'Better than his father, that goes without saying,' she adds so quietly, Arthur can't be certain he heard her correctly.

'I should go,' he tells her, rising to his feet. 'It is late. Early start tomorrow…'

'Yes of course, forgive me. Pay no mind to my ramblings Merlin.' She smiles at him and the eerie light has gone from her eyes. 'Too many sleepless nights. Goodnight.'

'Goodnight Milady.'

Arthur hurries out of her room, but once outside, has to lean his forehead against the cool stone wall for a few seconds. Maybe the wine is dizzying him, and he blinks, to clear his vision but it does nothing to shake this feeling of foreboding that is so unknown to him.

When he manages his way down the stairs eventually, his head is much clearer and he is already half on his way to forgetting the odd things Morgana had said. He pushes open the door to Gaius's chambers, to find the old man sitting on his work bench.

'Oh Merlin, there you are.' Gaius grimaces as he lifts a leg up onto the seat. 'My left foot is hurting so much I can't sleep. Could you rub in that ointment like you did last week? It really helped.' Gaius points at a thick, yellow substance in a large jar on the table.

Arthur's jaw drops as he looks from Gaius's face to the slightly crooked toes the old man is wriggling in invitation, to his own hands.

Someone. Is going to _pay_ for this. One day.

 

#

‘What in Heaven's name happened in here?' a loud voice demands. Merlin veers up, battles with blankets and sheets for a moment while blinking against the sunlight now streaming through the open window. He sees the silhouette of the King outlined against it, looking down at the ground. It takes a few seconds of sheer panic before realizing what exactly Uther is doing in his bedroom. No not his, Arthur's.  
Which ever way you look at it though, being alone with King Uther is not how Merlin likes to start his day.

'What do you have that servant of yours _do_ all day Arthur? Honestly… And where is he now? You should have been up and dressed an hour ago. Ulridien and Elvira will be here shortly.'

'Yesm'lord,' Merlin mumbles, knuckling his eyes to a wider state of wakefulness. The King presses his lips together and looks from the pile of clothes on the floor, to who he thinks is his son and back again. 

'Don't tell me it is going to start all over again. You're not going to worry about what to wear like a girl, are you Arthur? You are the crown prince, and if you decide Elvira is who you want, she should be the one to be honored, not the other way around. And where is that servant?' he demands.

'Not quite sure Milord,' Merlin says, inching closer to the edge of the bed. 'I'll go looking for him right away.'

'You'll do no such thing!' Uther tells him indignantly. 'A prince going to look for his servant? I haven't heard the like! What is the matter with you boy!'

The King stomps toward the door, throws it open and yells; 'You!' to someone invisible to Merlin. 'Go fetch that useless excuse for a prince's servant will you!'

Merlin's fingers bury themselves into his hair and he cringes at the thought of Arthur being dragged out of bed by one of his own guards.

Uther closes the door again. He is pinching the bridge of his nose as he turns around to face Merlin. 

'Now,' he begins, his voice that sort of forced calm someone might use on a particularly obnoxious child. 'You are going to get dressed - in something decent but that doesn't yell 'I'm trying too hard' - then you are going to join me in the throne room where we will await Ulridien's arrival. You are going to make polite conversation with both of them and let's just agree today is not the day you find your wife, all right?'

'Yes, father. Absolutely. Today, is not the day.'

'So we agree on that?' Uther's eyes widen a bit in wonder, not expecting so much compliance from his son.

'Beyond all doubt. Not today.'

'Good. Your servant can clean up this mess in the meantime. And tell him to report to the kitchens after that, they can use all the help for today's banquet.' Uther is about to walk away again when the door opens and a guard strides in, his hand on the scruff of what he believes to be Merlin's neck.

'Here he is Sire,' the guard tells them, giving Arthur a little shake. 'He was still asleep. Had to drag him out of bed Sire. He had the nerve to demand what I was doing.'

'Did he now,' Uther looks the boy, who is visibly fuming and red faced, up and down. 'Maybe a morning in the stocks will teach him some manners.'

'As you wish Sire,' the guard agrees, grabbing a tighter hold and making for the door again.

It last about five seconds, the thought. Five, beautiful seconds in which Merlin imagines poetic justice being served for all those times he had to wash rotten vegetables out of his hair. But -.

'No wait!' Merlin says, stumbling out of the bed now, arms flailing, tripping over his words as well as his feet. 'I eh - I need… Merlin, to eh - help. Now, this morning. Father. I mean -. Yes. Help.'

'Very well,' Uther makes a dismissive gesture with his left hand, the guard lets go with a shove and both men stride out of the prince's quarters.

Merlin and Arthur stare at each other, speechless while Arthur rubs his neck. After a short, loaded silence, they both burst out at the same time;

'He dragged me out of bed-.'

'I'm so sorry, I meant to wake up early and come-.'

'And then he pushed me around-.'

'But the bed is so comfortable and-.'

'Then he watched as I got dressed! Making snide remarks!' Arthur's voice rises steadily as Merlin's quietens.

'I just couldn't help it, and then your father was here and-.'

'And then he squeezed my neck all the way up here-.' Arthur yells, throwing his hands in the air.

'I could hardly tell him no-.'

'I had to rub _feet_!' Arthur yells, stabbing a hole in the air with a raised finger.

Again they fall silent at the same time, casting uncomfortable sideways looks at each other.

'Thanks for… you know.' Arthur is the first to break it again.

'What?'

'You know… Not letting them put me in the stocks.'

'Oh.' Merlin tries to not look guilty. 'You're welcome. You would have done the same for me, right?'

'Yes. Right, absolutely.' Arthur clears his throat. 'So, we have to find a way to undo this. It is becoming more and more ridiculous.'

'Eh, yes about that.'

'What?' Arthur moves closer and Merlin doesn't like the look on his face so he retreats a few steps.

'Eh, you have to eh - well I mean, me - as you, have to go and wait for King Ulridien and the princess in the throne room.'

'What? When?' Arthur steps closer.

'Well, now.'

'And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?' Arthur says in a low, slightly threatening voice, still advancing.

'You were to eh… clean up this room and-.' Merlin swallows hard and tucks in his chin, eyes fixated on the nose that is now nearly pressing against his own. 'Go to the kitchens and make yourself useful.'

'But I-,' Arthur splutters in a high voice, turning to the window, 'am the crown _prince_! I do not work in _kitchens_!'

'I know,' Merlin tells him with a pained look on his face. 'And the staff thinks I'm useless enough already without you going down there and making it worse!'

'What?'

'No I mean, well-. No, I _do_ mean… you wouldn't have a clue what to do, would you? And they'll think even worse of me and…'

'I-,' Arthur points a finger in Merlin's face. 'Am better at anything you do. How hard can it be? Scrub some pots, carry some dishes. I fight wyverns and gryphons, I hunt boar and protect our lands from sorcerers. I can carry a plate around a hall!'

'Eh. Good.' Merlin says frowning doubtfully, eyes a little askew as he tries to keep track of the pointy finger. 'So… what do I do?'

'You,' Arthur hisses, the finger still in his face. 'Sit. You eat. You drink. You keep-your-mouth-shut. You do not talk to Elli. You do not look at Elli. You do not even notice she is in the same room, you hear?'

'Wow. She must have had some effect on you…'

'Merlin!'

'All right, all right! I say nothing, I eat, I drink. Got it. Life of a prince sure is a burden…'

 

The kitchens are basically a mass of sweaty bodies slowly working themselves up to a panic, with swirls of steam and whiffs of cooking meats filling the already cramped air. Arthur is shoved into a corner with large, dirty pots that need scrubbing and he briefly feels like rebelling but knows there is nothing to be done apart from get on and get through. That, and if Merlin ever found out he tried to bail, he would never hear the end of it. Within no time, the brittle energy assaulting him from all directions has him tense as a strung bow, no matter how many times he tells himself that _this is ridiculous, I am a knight_. For what feels like hours, Arthur remains in his corner, gnashing his teeth until the head cook comes for him, tells him to -.

'- Go and put on a clean shirt boy, we need more serving staff.' Sends him packing with a cuff to the back of his head, so Arthur almost feels something close to sympathy for Merlin but he manages to suppress it.

Merlin.

He wonders how he is managing. He hopes the boy is keeping a cool head. A cool head that he is keeping down above all else. The sympathy bubbles up again unbidden when he thinks of his own frazzled nerves after a morning in the kitchen and how Merlin's must be fairing in the throne room, all by himself, never having spent all that much time with nobles. He quickly changes into one of Merlin's chafing shirts, regretting he didn't think of doing that before the dirty work started, and makes his way back to the kitchens. One of the cooks presses a silver tray with goblets full of wine in his arms and he goes to stand in line with the others. From there on, he is so busy he doesn't actually have much time to think about anything.

He tries to laugh with the servants as they come and go, talking loudly outside the throne room where they don't have to mind their tongues. An older man nudges him saying something along the lines of; 'ha-ha did you see that thing Lady wotsit has on her head? Think she knows it's there?' and Arthur says; 'ha-ha, yeah, I think it's still alive!'. When the others in earshot laugh at his joke, he relaxes a little and thinks that this isn't so bad after all.

It is odd to enter the throne room from this angle. To walk through the throngs of people and not be greeted, sought out or hailed from across the room. To walk around and essentially be invisible unless someone is thirsty. More than once he is tousled by an elbow or a shoulder and expected to apologize. Once, he is shoved so hard, one of the brimful goblets teeters dangerously and actually splatters the back of some foreign knight's cloak with red liquid. For a moment Arthur believes it is his willpower alone that keeps the goblet from toppling over completely, but is then distracted by being angry at himself for allowing the whole incident to make him break out in a cold sweat. It wears on him after a while and when his tray has been emptied and refilled so many times he lost count, he moves along the cold, stone wall, edging his way to where Merlin is standing. He grabs a wine carafe off one of the other serving boys and tops up Merlin's goblet.

'How can you stand it?' he hisses in Merlin’s ear.

'What?' Merlin mumbles, a little surprised. He has to grab hold of the decanter because Arthur is not paying attention to exactly where he is pouring the wine.

'How can you stand being treated like this?' he says, looking around the room and seeing the smiling faces, ignoring those who serve them.

'You say it like I have a choice in the matter,' Merlin observes a bit coolly.

'The cook cuffed my head!' Arthur complained, pouting a little.

'What? Only once?' Merlin says, astonished. Then he grins, nodding his head in princess Elvira's direction. 'She's pretty.'

Arthur scowls. 'I 'spose.'

'Oh come on Sire,' Merlin guffaws so Arthur has to nudge him in the ribs and hiss a _hush_. 'Still,' Merlin continues in a whisper. 'She's very beautiful, I don't blame you for -what was it- turning into a love sick puppy,' he sniggers.

'I didn't-.' Arthur starts, but then looks to the left and right. 'I didn't, okay?' he continues in a low hiss. 'Besides, there are at least a dozen prettier girls in this room.'

'Like who? And Arthur, there aren't even a dozen girls _in_ this room.'

'Like Morgana, for one thing.'

He's right. The slender girl looks stunning in a burgundy dress, her hair piled neatly on top of her head. 

'And her.' Merlin follows the direction of Arthur's nod. It is Morgana's serving girl.

'Who, Gwen?' Merlin asks. 'You think she's pretty?'

'Yeah. Don't you?'

'Well, yes but she's a servant.'  
'So?' Arthur says a little defensively. 'What's wrong with being a servant?'

'Nothing,' Merlin tells him with a small snort. 'Nothing at all.'

Arthur has to move on then, their hushed conversation drawing a glance or two from nearby guests. He trudges back and forth between the kitchens and the throne room so often, he thinks he will be able to do it with his eyes closed.

Once, his spirits are ridiculously lifted when he hears one of the visiting ladies tell her friend that-.  
'Prince Arthur certainly looks very handsome and would be quite a catch.' They drop again however, when the friend replies with; 'Yes, especially since young men his age are usually so loud and boisterous. But he seems thoughtful and considerate. Paying attention to what happens around him rather than wanting to be in the centre of it.'

He avoids that particular corner for the rest of the evening, completely unintentionally, of course.  
By the end of the night, Arthur wouldn't be able stand if he was any more tired and Merlin is really tired of standing.

'You think you can manage getting yourself out of your own clothes Merlin,' Arthur yawns as they leave the throne room. 'Or has this whole thing gone to your head?'

'Not at all. I multitask. I can do absolutely nothing useful for an entire day and still remember how to undress by the evening.'

'You know Merlin, I'd hit you over the head with something but I honestly can't lift my arms.'

'Oh so, now all of a sudden serving drinks is harder work than sword fighting is it? Because _you_ had to do it for one day.'

Arthur snorts. 'Not at all, it's just that you have jelly for arms.'

They reach the end of the corridor, where they have to go their own ways.

'Tomorrow,' Arthur says, stretching his arms to the side, yawning again. 'We figure this thing out. Gaius will be out on rounds midmorning, so we can have a look at the books around his quarters. You never know.'

'So you going to tell me what the big deal was with Elv-.'

'No. I'm not. Goodnight _Milord_.' Arthur makes a show of bowing with a flourish, his hand first waving over his head and then down.

'Goodnight,' Merlin tells him, adding a word that may or may not be _idiot_ while rolling his eyes and Arthur grins wickedly.

 

Merlin doesn’t plan on falling asleep but the Royal bed is so comfortable, he dozes off anyway. So it is with a start when he wakes, sheets tangled around his legs and a pillow stuffed awkwardly beneath him. His back is slightly damp where the blankets have piled up on a heap and it doesn't take him long to figure out he is still in Arthur's body. He carefully feels around for his clothes and boots in the dark, pulls them on and quietly moves to the door. When he presses his ear against it, he hears nothing but a castle at its most quiet in the dead of night. So he opens the door, silently moves into the torch lit corridor and descends the stairs to the dungeons, keeping to the shadows all the while. The guards are dozing off, their heads resting on an old wooden table, feet stretched out beneath it. When he reaches the final set of stairs that will lead to the deepest recesses of the stronghold, Merlin lifts a torch out of its iron wrought support and continues down. Once in the cave, Merlin takes a deep breath to call forth the Dragon, but there is no need.

'You!' A reverberating voice fills his ears. 'Have you finally the courage to seek out that which your father has condemned to an eternity of captivity?'

Merlin yells a 'What? No!' before he has to duck to avoid a blast of flames hurtling his way. 'Stop!' he tries again, his back pressed against the cave wall. 'It is me, Merlin! Not Arthur!'

'Merlin?' the voice questions. 'You are not Merlin, my eyes may be old but they do not deceive me yet.'

'No really,' Merlin peeks his head from behind the cave wall. 'It is Merlin. Something happened that caused our minds to switch, but it is me.'

'Hmm, I see now. The magic is weak, but I can sense it.' The sound of beating wings briefly fills the cavern and the dragon perches down on a large projection of rock. 'What has made this possible then?'

'I was hoping you would be able to tell me.'

'You mean to say, you drank no potion? Angered no witch? Well, Uther has angered enough of them for there to be a grudge against him and his son to last a lifetime.'

'No, not that I know of. I thought it could be a Goblin, or something… But I need to know how-.'

'No, Goblins are powerful, but not enough to achieve this. Tell me, has there been… an odd wind lately?'

Merlin purses his lips and frowns. 'An odd … wind?' he repeats doubtfully.

'Yes. Making people irritated, or behave differently.'

'Well, yes. I suppose.'

'Hmm. Interesting.'

'Yes I'm sure it is, but what does that have to do with…'

'There is an old saying in the Old Language. Something along the lines of; _When the wind of change blows through the land, lost magic is close at hand_.' The Dragon peers at Merlin with one of his large emerald eyes as if that explains everything.

'Yes, still not seeing what…'

'Merlin,' the Dragon sighs with a note of impatience to his voice now. 'Wind of change? Lost Magic?'

'What, you mean some random spell blew through our windows and just happened to change us?'

'Not quite. The wind of change is magical in itself. It is said to carry all the spells ever cast, all those that will be spoken and all those begun but never finished. It is natural for it to search out the other most magical source in the vicinity.' The dragon lowers his face closer to Merlin. 'That being you, in case you haven't worked it out yet. Why the prince is affected opposed to someone else, I do not know. Maybe because of your entwined destinies. But in short, it can have odd effects.'

'You can say that again. Anyway, how do I undo it?'

'You can't.'

'What?'

'I said-.'

'I heard! But there has to be something-, I mean I don't want to-, even though the bed is quite… No! There must be something I can do.'

'All you can do is wait for it to pass. Wait for the wind to change again.'

'That… is not funny.'

'I'm not attempting to be. I am merely telling you-.'

'You're _smirking_! I can tell! And, hold on. Why did you try to burn Arthur to a crisp if we have this great destiny together?'

'Oh that was just a bit of fun. Thought I'd scare the boy a little.'

'Fun. I didn't know dragons had fun.'

'Better return to bed young Warlock. The sun will rise soon.' The Dragon is definitely laughing as he takes off, leaving a bewildered Merlin staring after him.

So he traipses back up the stairs, wondering how he will live through informing Arthur that they are stuck like this for what might be quite some time. He puts the torch back where he found it, slinks past the still sleeping guards, asks himself what he'll do if Uther ever employs any that actually stay awake, and makes his way back to Arthur's room, hoping to find a few more hours of blissful sleep.

Naturally, that doesn't happen. He doesn't even make it as far as the bedroom.

Someone behind him calls; 'Oh Arthur…', only it sounds like _Aaarrthurrrr._

Merlin would have turned around to find out who that enticing voice belonged to, if he'd caught it reading from Gaius's insect encyclopedia. When Elli floats toward him, dressed in nothing but a clingy nightgown, all he can do is swallow hard and gawk, his mind a flutter of _oh no, oh dear, I'd better get out of here, is that strawberries I smell?_ By the time his brain has located his feet, it is too late to run.

'M-Milady,' he stutters, but that is as far as he gets. Which is a good thing because when she stands as close as possible without actually touching, _yes definitely strawberries_ , he can't remember how to do that thing that forms words in his head and makes them come out of his mouth.

'Arthur, I noticed you were avoiding me tonight,' she whispers, fluttering her eyelashes furiously and Merlin lets out something that could only be described as a squeak. 'I hope you're not still angry at me for the little game I played all those years ago, are you?'

Merlin tucks in his chin to follow the two fingers that walk themselves up his shirt onto his face, to land on his nose and he ends up cross eyed and speechless. When Elli keeps staring at him, a knowing little smile on her lips, Merlin's foggy brain slowly comprehends he should says something. Something that sounds like _No of course not, how could I be angry at one as lovely as you My Lady_ in his head, but that comes out as; 'N'coursen'm'ladeh.'

He registers the soft 'good', and then he registers a pretty face suddenly very close to his and the warmth of her breath against his mouth and then the world goes a little topsy-turvy, and nothing much registers anymore.

#

The next morning Arthur shoulders his way into what should be his own chambers, arms full of clean laundry. He opens his mouth, ready to tell Merlin that if he thinks he is going to make the bed as well, he has another thing coming. Only Merlin isn't in the room.

'Huh,' he says and walks over to the bed. At least it has been slept in. Idly he pulls at the sheets and blankets before picking up one of the pillows. He fluffs it up a little, looks at it from ever angle and sighs. He'd forgotten how soft exactly his pillows are. He presses it to his chest and leans his cheek against it, sighing more deeply. Sleeping in this bed again … he'll never take it for granted.

He stands there for a moment, maybe contemplating toppling over onto the mattress and having a nap when the door opens behind him. Merlin gives him a quizzical look and Arthur has to glance down before he remembers he is still hugging the cushion.

'Where have you been, Merlin?' he demands, as he sends the pillow flying over his head where it drops on the bed. It is only then that he notices Merlin is looking the worst part of worn out and his eyes widen. 'Merlin,' he repeats. 'Tell me where you were and please, please tell me you were there alone.'

'Hmpf-' is all Merlin has to say before flopping down in a chair.

'Oh no. No, no, no. She's done it again, hasn't she? Hasn't she! I hate that woman. If it wasn't a woman I'd challenge her to a dual and kick her from here to the back of the Kingdom. Merlin!' Arthur grumbles between clenched teeth when the boy just stares at the wooden table, picking at the grains with a nail. 'Tell me. What. _Happened_. Did it involve a dress and a wig again?'

‘What? No - what?’

‘Never mind,’ Arthur says quickly. ‘Carry on.’

‘I think you better sit down,' Merlin lets him know with a mumble, his chin almost resting on his chest. With a sense of dread, Arthur pulls out a chair and lowers himself down, elbows resting on his knees. 

'You could've told me you know,' Merlin says, not taking his eyes off the table and he sounds a little disgruntled. 'So I'd've known what to expect.'

'This is going to be bad, isn't it? What did she make you do this time?' he nervously wrings his hands. Merlin gives the table a long suffering look before sighing and shifting his gaze to Arthur.

'Ugh,' Arthur grunts, standing up again. 'On the other hand, I don't think I want to know.' He walks around the table, picks up an apple from the fruit tray, looks at it for a while and puts it back again. He breathes heavily through his nose, kicks a chair, picks up the apple again and bites into it. Merlin follows him with his eyes the entire time, without actually lifting his chin. 'No, tell me anyway.' Arthur commands with his mouth full of the fruit, sinking back into the chair.

'She kissed me.'

He almost chokes on the apple at that, accidentally spitting a piece of it out. It lands on Merlin's knee and they both stare at it. 'What?' Arthur mouths almost inaudibly before finding his voice again and adding; 'That dragon-woman did what?', while putting the half eaten fruit on the table.

Merlin pulls a face where the left corner of his lip arches up in mild disgust before he flicks the piece of apple off his knee with one finger.

'You could have told me she's a bully Arthur,' he tells the prince resentfully, who is pacing back from the bed, clutching the cushion again, not listening.

'Please tell me you didn't do anything that will make me have to marry the hag.' He goes to stand beside Merlin's outstretched feet and waits for him to make eye contact. When he does, he speaks very slowly, and deliberately, kneading his fingers into the velvety fabric. 'Please. I have never begged for anything Merlin and I very likely never will again, but I am begging you now. Tell me, no - promise me - nothing inappropriate happened. Promise me I don't have to spend the rest of my life with her.' He grabs the pillow with both hands, one on each end, folds it over his head like it was a hat, ready to disappear into it if he has to and scrunches his eyes shut.

'Nothing inappropriate happened.' Merlin mumbles, casting his gaze down to the table again.

'Thank goodness,' Arthur exclaims with a giddy laugh, letting go of the cushion so it pops to its intended form and flops to the ground. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and then allows them to drag down over his face. When they pass over the sharp cheekbones, Arthur seems to remember whose face exactly he's rubbing and quickly drops the hands to his sides.'Thank heavens for that Merlin, you have _no idea_ what she's like.' Arthur's voice actually sounds a little shaky in relief.

'Oh I think I do,' Merlin tells him, and he explains everything, remembering the way she had cornered him in the corridor on his way back from the dragon's cave -leaving the dragon bit out. Okay, so his brain had temporarily shut down when she had whispered all those lovely things and what harm is there in one kiss, really? Maybe, yes, maybe he should accompany her to her room because the castle is so cold and dark at night. (Did it occur to him, she had found her way around in the dark fine before 'accidentally' stumbling upon him? Of course not.) And yes maybe he should go inside and check no one was hiding under the bed…

Arthur is laughing by now and Merlin sinks back into sulky silence.

'Go on,' Arthur sniggers. 'Tell me the rest.'

And Merlin does tell him the rest and it ends with Merlin's arm being twisted behind his back, made to repeatedly yell promises along the lines of; 'Never! To anyone!' and 'To my _grave_ , I swear!'.

They both sit at opposite ends of the table for a long time after that, stubbornly not talking because everybody knows that is how you solve things. So it is Arthur who speaks first in the end because he is aware -.

'- I should have warned you, I'm sorry. I should have seen it coming.'

'Is that what happened last time?' Merlin asks him, quietly.

'More or less, and I had to go on letting everyone believe it was because I liked her.' He emphasizes the word with a look of disgust. 'Instead of being afraid to leave her alone in case she'd tell everyone she bullied me into … you know. What else could I do?'

'You could have told _me_.' Merlin says, his bottom lip still sticking out in a sulky way.

'I know, I know all right? I said I'm sorry, I'm not going to say it again. Let's just, forget about it and never mention this again. Ever. She's leaving as we speak and hopefully she'll be possessed by a Goblin or something.'

'That'd be an improvement,' Merlin mutters and their eyes accidentally meet at those words. Arthur is the first to smile, and then Merlin can't hide his smirk any longer and next thing they know they are laughing so hard, they have to clutch their stomachs because surely something is going to pop soon, while tears stream down their faces.

 

#

It happens so fast Merlin doesn't even think about it. They are in Gaius's chambers, because Arthur wanted to look through his books for a solution, Merlin not having found the courage to tell him the truth yet. The vial filled with liquid begins to fall, his head turns, his eyes fixate on the plunging object, he holds his breath for a heartbeat and the glass smashes to the floor anyway.

'Oops,' Arthur says, glancing over his shoulder and then to Merlin with a slightly apologetic smile. But Merlin still stares at the broken shards, the yellowish liquid seeping onto the tiles.

'What?' Arthur asks him, closing the book and putting it back where he found it. 'Was that something really important? Or valuable?'

'No, it's just-. I-, eh think it's a sleeping draft. No matter I'll clean it up.' He spins around to look for a cloth but his eyes frantically move from the left to the right. It didn't _work_. Why didn't it work? 

Grabbing the cloth Merlin bends down, mops up the liquid and then carefully picks up the broken glass. When he is certain Arthur isn't looking, he glances down again, whispering something under his breath, but the familiar heat doesn't flicker across his eyes and the vial remains broken. A heavy, creeping panic starts to rise from the pit of his stomach. It works its way up slowly, until it bubbles into his throat and his breathing quickens. Merlin's shoulders start to rise and fall in rhythm with the halting, irregular breaths. _It is gone,_ he thinks. _My magic. It is gone._ But then…

At that moment the door opens and Gaius steps inside, his eyes first finding who he thinks is Merlin, still standing by the bookshelf. 'Ah,' he begins, no doubt about to give him some task, but then he notices Arthur rising to his feet and his eyebrow worms its way toward his hairline. 'Sire,' he observes. 'You are here. Again.'

'Yes. Eh, hello Gaius.'

'Is there something I can assist you with?'

'No, eh not at all.' Merlin says, edging his way toward the door, still clutching the wet cloth with the broken vial. Arthur starts to go after him, with Gaius's frown following them both.

'Wait a moment,' he tells them finally. 'There is something very odd about all this. Merlin, what is going on? Why did Arthur just clean something up from the floor?'

'Well eh…' Arthur begins, shifting a wide eyed look between Merlin and the physician. 'I-, he dropped it. It's only fair…'

'Merlin, _you_ are the servant. This is outrageous!' he turns to who he thinks is Arthur. 'Sire I apologize,' he offers while taking the cloth and glass out of his hands, and then twists back to who he believes to be Merlin. 'Go and fetch fresh water for the prince at once, so he can wash his hands, they are all sticky.'

'No I assure you,' Merlin begins, stepping forward, but Gaius holds up a hand. 'I insist.' He adds under his breath; 'Merlin, now.'

Merlin sees Arthur gnash his teeth briefly before turning to the door and stalking through it.

'Honestly Milord, I don't know what is wrong with that boy late-.' Gaius stops talking in astonishment when the crown prince grips his wrists and pulls them insistently.

'Gaius,' he hisses. 'It is _me_!'

'Well, yes,' Gaius tells him, pulling back a little. 'I can see that.'

'No it's me! _Merlin_!'

'Wha-' Gaius half laughs, sure this is a joke.

'I'm serious! Something happened, Arthur didn't want me to tell you but we have no choice now! The dragon told me about Magical Winds or whatever and now are minds have been swapped!'

'Good Heavens,' Gaius mumbles and sinks down on the bench. 'Merlin?' he asks in a weak voice.

'Yes.'

'Oh no. Did I just order the prince to fetch water?'

Merlin presses his lips together in what is meant to be a sympathetic gesture. 'Yes.'

Gaius buries his face in his hands for a moment. 'And I made him rub my feet the other night, didn't I?'

'Yes, I do believe you did,' Merlin snorts, clapping a hand in front of his mouth.

'It's not funny Merlin.'

'No, you are right. But that's not the worst thing,' Merlin hisses. He knows he needs to be quick, Arthur could return any moment. 'I don't have my magic anymore.'

'What?' At this Gaius's head snaps up. 'Merlin…'

'I know, it must be bound to my body somehow. But how is that possible? Surely magic is in my mind, because you can learn it. Right? I mean… Maybe I'm just a little confused and…'

'No Merlin. You were _born_ with it. That is very rare. For all we know it is in your blood. Which means-.'

'That it is in Arthur's blood right now.'

They stare at each other as they imagine the implications. But then heavy steps can be heard outside the doorway.

'There is something else you should know Merlin!' Gaius tells him, talking fast and under his breath. 'I have heard of this sort of magic before, if something happens to one of you - if you should come to die - the other will die too. There is still a link between your own body and mind, and one cannot live without the other.'

The door opens.

'You have to pretend you don't know!' Merlin tells Gaius quickly. 'For now.'

'What? I can't…'

But Merlin already pulls away from Gaius, putting a more appropriate distance between them and Arthur steps inside with half drenched trousers.

'Thank you!' Merlin tells him, hurrying forward and taking the bowl out of Arthur's hands. He glances down. 'Something happen?'

Arthur gives him a look that could make the sun set early, remembers Gaius's presence and just huffs out something unintelligible before disappearing into Merlin's chambers. Gaius frantically points at Merlin, then at the door, then at his own head and when Merlin cocks his head to the side with a quizzical look, he just rolls his eyes, shaking his head. 'You have to do someth-,' he begins, but the door opens again and Arthur reappears with dry clothing.

'Didn't you say something about needing to go back to your chambers, Milord,' Arthur says icily, widening his eyes in what Merlin thinks is meant to be a meaningful way but just makes him look a little deranged.

'Yes. Yes, quite right.' He gives Gaius a _I don't know what to do, I'm just rolling with it_ sort of shrug and follows Arthur out of the door.

'Merlin, I have had enough! This has to end _today_.' Arthur complains too loudly for the castle corridors and Merlin has to whisper an insistent _shush_ when a servant girl's eyes widen in shock.

'Actually, I managed to have a peak at that last book you picked up while you were changing into dry clothes,' Merlin lies. He doesn't like lying, especially to Arthur. He sort of hates it in fact, but he is fairly certain he'd hate having his head chopped off even more. 

'Oh?' Arthur says in encouragement when Merlin doesn't finish his sentence. He opens the door to his chambers and without thinking holds it until Merlin steps inside.

'Yes. It was the correct book.'

'Course it was,' Arthur smirks, regaining some of his old swagger. Merlin pretends he can't hear him.

'It describes a case where something similar happened, purely for scientific research of course,' he improvises, not wanting to get Gaius into trouble because of his lies. 'And the effects wear off automatically -'

'They do?' Arthur's eyes widen hopefully.

'Eventually.' Merlin finishes.

'How long?'

'Eh- it varies.'

'How varied are we talking?'

'Days, weeks at the most.'

'Weeks? _Weeks_?'

Merlin knows that look and starts to talk very fast. 'Before you start throwing things at me, it's not my fault and now at least we know it isn't permanent and remember this is _your head_ you'll be throwing stuff at!' 

The pillow sailing toward his head is aimed halfheartedly at best and falls short at his feet.

'Right.' Arthur tells him, running a hand through his hair. 'I am not spending one more night on that haystack of yours, or rubbing feet for that matter, knowing you are sleeping in my bed!'

Merlin's lungs deflate as he hangs his head, suspecting what's coming. And he is right. 'We are going on a hunting trip. Pack my things, we leave straight away.'

Merlin casts a last mournful look at the bed before turning to Arthur's wardrobe.

#

 

Arthur watches Merlin push his fingers into his eye sockets and breathe deeply in an attempt to locate his patience. He knows he is being unreasonable but right now, he just doesn't care.

'I thought you'd be pleased out here, out in the open,' Merlin tells him. 'Doing another one of your manly man things. You know. _Hunting_.' Merlin drags out the word as if he's implying something sticking to his shoe.

'I would be if I wasn't imprisoned in this excuse for a body,' is what Arthur says and if his lip sticks out, if he sounds a bit sulky, well then that is just too bad.

'It's not _my_ fault you fell off the horse Arthur,' Merlin answers, casting his eyes to the leafy roof of the forest, as if half expecting his patience to be stuck up a tree.

'Don't worry about it. Your back broke my fall.' Arthur kicks at a loose piece of rock and sends it flying.  
'Oh that's just-, nice. Really nice. You know what? I give up. Let's just set up camp here. We can eat the hare that _I_ caught and continue _hunting_ tomorrow. I'll go find some firewood, you just-, stay where you are and feel sorry for yourself.'

'Fine! I will.'

'Good.'

'Great!'

'Excellent.'

'Merlin.'

'Oh shut up.'

Arthur mumbles something that sounds a little like _that's my line_ at Merlin's retreating back before unfurling his bedroll, unceremoniously dumping first it, and then himself on the ground. He stretches out his legs, wriggling his toes in boots that really aren't comfortable (maybe he has a spare pair he doesn't use anymore, that Merlin could have), feet crossed at the ankles, arms crossed under his head and sighs. He scratches at his neck, Merlin's shirt being particularly itchy when damp with sweat (maybe he has a couple of spare ones of those too, for Merlin. Or maybe he could buy him some new ones, the prince's servant should look at least decent, right?).

For all the complaining he's been doing, he is happy to be out of the castle. And not even because it puts a safe distance between himself and Gaius's feet. The reason he enjoys hunting trips so much, is because it alleviates him from the burden of being Prince Arthur for a while, and he can just be Arthur. 

In the cover of the woods with nothing but a sword and a spear, he doesn't have to contemplate the effects every word he speaks, every action he takes, might have on the Kingdom. And even though he would never, not even under threat of confinement to a room full of spiders, ever admit it, he even prefers when it is just Merlin and himself. Other knights always feel they have to give him the best kill, the last word, the first shot, while Merlin just lets him do whatever he wants and is sort of a good friend for going along with it.

Arthur frowns at the sky, where a wispy white cloud drifts soundlessly past the blue stretch. He just thought of Merlin as a friend, which isn't exactly a first. The idea has been lodged in his brain for a while now, but it is the first time he explores the thought more deeply. He wonders when that initially started to happen, when he stopped thinking of Merlin as just a servant. Arthur snorts, a smirk pulling at the corner of mouth. As if he ever was a real servant - worst servant ever more like. So why is he still around? Did it happen when he watched Merlin lose a close childhood friend? Or when he drank a poisoned chalice to save Arthur, knowing it would most likely kill him.

Maybe the answer lies in smaller things, Merlin just being there when Arthur doesn't really want to be alone. Or when he irritates him to death with his constant worrying and the endless stream of words filled with caution, knowing all the while it is only because he cares. Or maybe it happened from the very beginning, because Merlin is the sort of person that will stand up for someone he doesn't know, against a whole bunch of armed someones he doesn't know either.

His mind flits over that hot afternoon at the market, to his words _there is something about you Merlin_ , and decides that must be it. There is something about Merlin. It doesn't really matter what, it just means that Arthur has a friend who he can't really acknowledge, but that doesn't stop Merlin from speaking his mind, so he suspects he knows without being told. And if that means he will have someone by his side who he can trust when he is King, to tell him when he is out of line, when he is rushing into things, when he is making a mistake, then he knows he'll have a whole lot more than his father ever had. Servant or not.

Where has that idiot gone to?

Arthur lifts his head, chin pressing to his chest, glancing to the left and right expecting to spot Merlin trudging back with an armful of firewood. He doesn't, but there is something else that immediately grasps his attention and causes his heart to batter against his chest as if it belongs on the other side. He stands, hunching low to the ground, automatically searching for his sword. Arthur swears softly when he remembers where it is: strapped to his useless servant yet valued friend's hip. He grabs the discarded bow and quiver, straps one to his back, the other over his shoulder and sets off to follow the path Merlin had taken. He doesn't know why, he can't explain to himself in one reasonable thought why he is stealing from tree to tree, alternately surveying his surroundings and tracking Merlin's footsteps. All he knows is, it is acutely _necessary_ , that there is no time to lose, that the thought of being _too late_ is quite unbearable.

Arthur drops down when he hears voices, arguing. He peers from behind a gnarled old oak tree, sees two men waving their hands about in an agitated fashion, indicating something on the ground. No, not something, someone, and not just someone, Merlin.

Merlin lies crumpled in a heap and even from his hidden location, Arthur can tell his left arm is folded at an unnatural angle. Carefully, with a furtiveness he didn't think this body was capable of, he crawls closer, to snatch up part of the conversation.

'We can't kill him, don't you know who that is?'

'That is exactly why we have to kill him! He's seen us, we'll never spend another day in peace if we let him live.'

'N-!'

The move is so sudden, Arthur is frozen in paralyzing incredulity. He knows there is no time, he knows there is nothing he can do to prevent this, that drawing an arrow from the quiver, nock it on the bow and release it will only take him seconds, but it will be light years too late. All he can do in his all embodying, gut wrenching helplessness, when the sword flashes in a terrible, deathly arch, is throw up his hands and shout _No_.

 

Arthur's eyes flicker bewilderingly from the two prone figures on the forest floor to the one frozen in shock, one of his own hands still outstretched aimlessly before him. Arthur drops it and finds the man staring straight at him, eyes so wide in fear he can see their whites from where he is standing. The man backs away, one, then two steps before turning and making a run for it. Arthur blinks past a strange red heat passing over his eyes and rushes over to his own, seemingly lifeless body. For now, he ignores the unconscious attacker, his first concern making sure Merlin is alive. His hands flutter from the too pale face to the injured arm and back, uncertain of their actions, fearful of making matters worse. There is a short moment of relief when he sees the chest rise and fall and then a realization he should straighten out the broken arm before Merlin regains consciousness.

Arthur swallows hard, his hands falter, fists clenching and unclenching a few times, before he places one hand at the wrist, the other just below the shoulder. He moves as gently and slowly as possible but still flinches when Merlin groans in his insensible state. The fact that his body still has the strength to do so however, lifts a heavy weight in his stomach, and Arthur straightens, knowing he should check on the villain next. He carefully pulls his sword from underneath Merlin and advances on the unmoving figure. But the weapon is not needed, his opponent being clearly dead. The impact with the tree has broken his back and his eyes stare unseeing at the sky.

Arthur doesn't understand. The fleeing man seemingly had nothing to do with it and Merlin was unconscious. Knowing it is a useless move, but unable to stop himself, Arthur scans the surrounding forest, only to see no one. It is as if the man was knocked back by an imperceptible force.

When realization comes, it is a bone-chilling trickle that starts at the top of his spine and works its way down until Arthur is cold all over. The heat behind his eyes, the wine goblet that should have fallen over during the feast but miraculously didn't, the power that surged through him when he shouted _no_ which he had mistaken for panic. He staggers back a little, dropping the sword and lifting the hand that had been holding it.

Arthur stares at it. Slowly, the long fingers flex toward the palm one by one until they form a fist. The thumb folds over the knuckles last and they tense until turning white. It all clicks. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as a sharp breath hisses from his throat. All those incidents, all those inexplicable rescues, all those times he should have died and branches fell out of the sky or roofs collapsed. All those moments he was certain to be his last only to wake up in his bed, or on Gaius's table or by a campfire with Merlin acting all innocent and giving him credit for the miraculous escape. It was Merlin all along.

So many feelings course through him it makes Arthur feel sick. He stares at his own motionless body, then up at the darkening sky. He turns and his gait is a little unsteady, a little staggering, as he walks away with one hand still clenched in a fist, the other pressed against his mouth.

#

Merlin wakes twice. Once, only to feel a shattering pain run down his left arm but nothing else penetrates the veil of dim awareness. The second time his eyes flutter, first showing nothing but white until he blinks and looks up at a darkening sky. The pain in his arm is still beyond endurance and when he lifts his head, it throbs nastily. All he can do is croak _Arthur?_ before passing out. Before the darkness has the chance to pull him down again, Merlin has one thought. He is alone.

#

First there is complete incredulity. Arthur’s mind wants to shut it out again, wants to believe it is something else, not _this_. But he understands this is what has been happening all along. He didn't know because he didn't want to know.

Then there is anger. Why? Why Merlin? Of all people why the only person he -. Why does he always, _always_ have to be so -.

Panic. Now what? No one can find out, it would cost Merlin his head. But can Arthur really keep such a thing from his father, betray him in the process? Can he really hide a -. 

Arthur can't even finish the thought, not even in the confinements of his own mind. He is the prince and he would be committing treason.

Then hurt. Why didn't Merlin tell him? Merlin knows everything about Arthur. True, they can't really acknowledge each other as friends but deep down Arthur thought -. What did he think? No matter, Merlin should have told him, should have trusted him to -. To what though? What would Arthur have done if he had found out? A year ago, no doubt… But now?

Obliged. How many times did Merlin save his life? How many times? And other people's lives? What has he really been doing all this while? What sacrifices has he been forced to make? While Arthur always poked fun at his laziness, his weakness, all this time Merlin was really -.

He even protected him from other sorcerers. Killed his own kind. For Arthur.

Resolve.

He stares at the hand again and allows it to open, fingers feeling numb from clenching them for so long. 

What a burden it must have been to carry alone.

#

Merlin wakes a third time, a wineskin being pressed to his lips.

'Drink,' someone tells him, and he obeys, a warm hand supporting the back of his neck. The darkness deepens and draws him in just as he thinks there is something different about his arm.

#

He wants to tell himself he does it because he is the Future King of Camelot. The Future King of Camelot needs to be able to fight, needs to be able to carry a shield and lead his troops on horseback. No one would follow a damaged man.

But he knows that is not the truth. It is a convenient circumstance to vindicate his behavior.

The truth is, now that he knows, he can feel the power of Magic run through his veins and wonders how he could possibly not have felt it from the moment their bodies had been swapped. And with that power comes the knowledge he can fix Merlin's arm. It is an overwhelming need to do it. So overwhelming in fact, that Arthur barely recognizes his feet have carried him there until he actually bends down beside the body that is him but also Merlin. The need is so overpowering, all Arthur has to do is close his eyes and hold out his hands. The heat flows behind his eyelids again and it spreads through his body, until he can feel it gather in his fingertips, it is warm and soothing but most of all _good_ , he knows, as it swells nearly to a point of intolerance before it surges into Merlin. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to and when his eyes flutter open, he sees the bones set, the skin healing and Merlin's ragged breathing calms down.

He carefully doesn't consider the other truth, that it was quite simply impossible to watch Merlin be in so much pain and do nothing about it. And to make sure he continues not thinking about that fact, Arthur believes now is probably as good a time as any to drink an entire wineskin. Or two.

Arthur opens one eye. Dawn is pink and creeping up slowly between the trees surrounding the makeshift camp he built around the injured Merlin last night. There is something different about today, something has changed but he can't quite put a finger on what. He tries to swallow but his mouth is dry and when he attempts to lick his lips all he achieves is making it feel even more desiccated. The obvious is literally staring him in the face but it still takes a while to sink in, when he turns to look toward a still sleeping Merlin.

First it's - _didn't I start out at the other side of the campfire last night?_

Arthur extends an arm still heavy with sleep and rubs his eyes, his mouth stretching in a wide and noisy yawn.

Then, he snorts softly and rolls his eyes at the way Merlin is all tangled up with cloak, bedroll and neckerchief, a brown leaf sticking to his face, his skin color a shade short of death.

And finally, it really sinks in, when he is thinking to himself it would be funny to wake Merlin by pouring ice cold water all over his head. His head. Merlin's head! Not _his_ head!

He scrambles to his feet in a frenzy and palms his own face, his hair, counting his fingers, checking they are all still there and Merlin didn't accidentally chop one off while running around in his body. There is a bit of a bruise on the back of his head but nothing worse than what he has had before. He flexes the arm that had mended before his very eyes the previous evening, looking and feeling as if it had never been broken to begin with. When he is sure, absolutely sure, he tilts his head back, laughs loudly and throws his arms up in the air.

He turns to Merlin, now a bit peeved by the lack of response and he nudges him gently with his foot.

'Merlin,' he drawls. 'Wake up _Merlin_.'

'Please,' Merlin groans, shrinking into himself and away from the offending foot, opening and closing his mouth a few times in an attempt to fill it with enough moisture to actually speak. ' _Please_ ,' he repeats, one hand moving over his eyes. 'Stop -saying -words.'

'But Merlin,' Arthur insists, a little annoyed he isn't ready to join in his happiness. 'We're back to normal! Well at least I am, I'm afraid there is no hope for you. Never was, never will be.'

'No, really?' Merlin mumbles, his hand moving over the dead leaf still sticking to his cheek. He peals it off with a vague frown. 'It never occurred to me this headache was a result of you consuming large amounts of alcohol last night. I thought it must have been your brain being so tired of residing inside that head of yours, it is attempting to escape through your eye sockets.'

Arthur wants to respond something harsh to that. Wants to call him an idiot and nudge him a little harder with his foot. But he can tell he is really miserable. And it is sort of his fault. On top of that, he is obviously freezing cold. He can hear Merlin's teeth clatter from where he is looming over him. He understands now, that Merlin's body isn't as resilient as his, so instead of doing something prattish he nearly gives himself away by saying; 'So why don't you just-?' his hand flailing a little aimlessly yet meaningfully in the air. It stills when he can almost see the atmosphere thicken around Merlin and contort into an invisible cloud of tension.

Merlin's eyes have flared wide open, an expression Arthur has seen so many times, not knowing before now what it meant. Merlin's body goes unnervingly unmoving, even his breathing stutters to a halt, and there is something of a trapped hare about him. It occurs to Arthur then, that maybe, just maybe, Merlin isn't this nervous by nature. Maybe it is a result of constantly having to be careful of what he does, what he says, of who he is really, when he is around people. A result of living with the continuous threat of being found out, the unabating fear that one wrong move, one careless word, could be his last. 

So Arthur drops his hand by his side and finishes his sentence a little lamely with; '- just stay where you are for a while. I will relight the fire, fetch fresh water. Maybe cook some breakfast. We are in no hurry to return to the castle.'

Merlin visibly relaxes at those words and Arthur bends down to pick up the discarded cloak, still warm from his own body heat.

'Here,-.' He hurtles it into Merlin's face with a grin that stretches from ear to ear when Merlin mumbles something inaudible but no doubt not very friendly. 'I'm not carrying you anywhere if you freeze to death.'

Arthur turns away to add more wood to the smoldering embers, his eyes distant and seeing something other than his own hands. The resolve of the night before still holds, to keep _this_ hidden. The secret and wonder that is Merlin, he would guard them both with his life. Even keep it from Merlin himself, for now. Because revealing his knowledge is most certainly going to change who they are forever. Things would be… different. And Arthur isn't ready for that destiny they are bound to share. 

Not yet.

 

[End]


End file.
